


Before the Storm, There is Peace

by scifigrl47



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is nothing we were ever trained for." </p><p>If you have to die, die fighting.  If you have to fall, fall because you were standing for something.  And if you have to face impossible odds, you might as well do it with someone who knows just how impossible they are, but has your back anyway.</p><p>Or; only an ex would ask you why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Storm, There is Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [暴风雨前的宁静](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144620) by [shunziqing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shunziqing/pseuds/shunziqing)



> I watched the Avengers trailer a lot. A lot. All of the trailers. And being a Hawkeye fangirl, the moment between Clint and Natasha was one of my favorites. Note: I haven't seen the movie. So this is likely wildly inaccurate.
> 
> I'm trying to post short pieces on tumblr, because I need to let go of things before they get to 10,000 words. It's not going well.

"Welp, we're gonna die.  Let's go get drunk."

That won him the faintest curl of a smile.  "No."

"Fine, fine, I don't usually do this, but for you, I'll make an exception, let's go get laid."

"With each other or someone else?" she asked, an eyebrow arching.

He pause, considering. "Are you offering?"

"No."

"Well, I am."

"No," but now the smile was really there, in her eyes on on her lips and in the relaxed slope of her shoulders.  

"Eat ice cream straight from the carton?"

"You always promise to share, and it is always a lie."

"Ben and Jerry's makes such tiny, tiny containers, and I'm a growing boy."  He leaned back, arms braced, and wasn't surprised when she leaned into the space that his body made, the curve of her back against the side of his ribs.  "Chick flick and chocolate?"

"You consider 'Top Gun' to be a chick flick."

"You threatened to burn down Meg Ryan's house in the mid nineties, 'Top Gun' is about as chick flick as you can take.  There's, I don't know, singing and crying and hugging."

"You make the worst case ever for this movie.  No."

"Jesus, why must you be so difficult, I am trying to make your last hours on this earth pleasant and memorable.  Sure you don't want to give that getting laid thing a try?"

"That was usually memorable.  Not often pleasant, however."

"Is it my fault that you tried to put a bullet in my throat the first time we slept together?  I mean, really.  You're lucky I'm incredibly stupid, or our relationship would never have worked out."

She shifted, just a bit, her head resting on his shoulder, her hair tickling his jaw.  "You're lucky that I like my men big and dumb."

"Really?  You think I'm big?"

"Of course I do, I think you're amazingly dumb."

He was struggling not to laugh, and buried his face in her hair, just for an instant, just long enough to inhale the clean, familiar scent.  "Well, I'm flat out of ideas."

She made a humming noise under her breath.  "We'll just have to live."

"Oh, c'mon, what's the chances that that'll happen?"

She tipped her head back, those amazing eyes meeting his.  "Promise me that you won't take the shot if it means your life."

He gave her a faint smile.  "I promise."

Her lips tightened.  "You lie so easily."  Her hand came up, the back of her fingers brushing against the line of his jaw, his cheek, moving up into his hair.  She ran blunt fingernails through his short locks.  "I always hated that about you."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, the gesture as chaste and gentle and delicate as any he'd ever attempted in his life.  "Promise me you'll come back, that you won't leave me alone with these idiots."

"I promise," she whispered, and when he raised his head, her eyes were closed, dark lashes like blades against her pale skin.

"Liar," he whispered.

"It's why we always got along so well," she pointed out.  "And why we were doomed to fail."  She took a deep breath, and he felt her ribs expand with the force of it, knew she was pulling away even before her muscles started to move.  That had always been the way.

He'd always known she was leaving before she left.  And she'd always known how to make the act a surprise in any case.

She rolled away from him, grace and delicacy and the best and worst of his life all there in a single sway of her hips.  She tossed her head, her slim neck and the proud line of her jaw the only thing he could see before her hair fell back into place.  

She paused, back to him.  "You come back alive."

His lips quirked in a lopsided grin.  "I don't take orders from you."

She glanced back at him, eyes veiled.  "I'm the only one you ever took orders from."

"Only because you occasionally gave an order worth following."  He didn't move, didn't stand, just pulled his eyes away from her to stare at the ceiling.  "Don't take it personally."

He heard her footsteps, click of high heels and almost soundless whisper of her body armor, and then she was leaning over him.  Her lips brushed his.  "Come.  Back.  Alive."

He grinned against her mouth. "Bossy, aren't you?"  He flicked a gloved finger against her perfect nose.  "We're superheroes now, what the fuck is up with that?"

She snorted.  "Don't let it go to your head."  

"I think it already has."  He stood, and reached for his bow.  

"Aren't you going to tell me to come back alive as well?" she said, eyebrows arched.

"I don't have to leave that up to you."  He flicked his bow into place, a natural extension of his arm, of his skeleton, a phantom presence that ached in his bones when it wasn't in his hand.  If he had a religion, the flex of his bow was a prayer and a benediction and the wrath of a vengeful God.  The bow was there, as natural to him as breathing, and he was different when it fit against his palm, it was a shield and a spear and a fragment of a saint's bone, and when it sang, it was a divine wind only he could summon.  "I've got your back, Tasha.  If you die, it'll be because I'm already down."

"If you die, Clint, it's because I ran out of ammo,"she said.  

"Better pack a few extra clips then," he said, and he grinned, and she grinned back.  "Tasha?"

"Yes?"

"I'll meet you for a drink when this is over."

"I could be persuaded.  Are you buying?"

"I'm a little short until Friday.  Spot me til I can deposit my paycheck?"

"You should consider direct deposit."

"I really hate dealing with the paperwork," he explained.  They paused, both of them grinning, their expressions a matching set of 'what the hell are we getting ourselves into?' and then it was gone.

He felt her fingers brush against his, fingers that could kill him, fingers that had made the attempt more than once, and he flicked her a mock salute.

"Go find something to avenge," she told him, one elegant eyebrow arching.

"As long as it's not some one." And then she was gone, and he was alone, and  his bow was in his hand, and his heart was in his throat and no matter what, he knew, he couldn't miss.

Lucky for him, he never did.


End file.
